Cracking Edges
by Charmina
Summary: It was not like he really wanted to think about this, anyway. What good did it do to dwell on things he could not change?


Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter and his world, it belongs to J.K Rowling. The quote is not mine either, it is of an unknown origin but I got it from Padfoot's girl.

Author Notes – This was written for Padfoot's girl A Quote Challenge. It takes place the summer between OotP and HBP. Also, thank you to the wonderful Sara! Do not know what I would do without you.

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**Cracking Edges**

"Sometimes it's just easier to say you don't care

than try to explain every reason why you still do"

It was a pitch black night, menacingly engulfed in deathly silence, No sound of engines running in the distance, of leaves rustling in the wind or teenagers on their way home from some random party. It was unnaturally quiet, and it was getting on his nerves.

Pacing back and forth across his small bedroom, Harry Potter was getting frustrated. He could not sleep, could not rest, with all these thoughts circling his mind at hundred miles per hour. His headache was constant; tough it never had anything to do with Voldemort. It felt like his head was too crammed, too small, to be able to deal with all this. Banging his head hard against the wall in frustration − and almost managing a small smile over the fact that, for a split second, it had not been so freakishly quiet − he groaned and slid down to the floor.

He did not understand why it had to be this way. Why could he not get away from all these thoughts so he could catch at least a few hours of sleep? It was not like he really wanted to think about this, anyway. What good did it do to dwell on things he could not change? Prophecy be damned, he was still only Harry and how could they expect him to defeat the most evil wizard that had ever lived?

No, it was not possible, completely absurd to even think it! Undoubtedly, he had been lucky this far, and luck was also the only reason why he was still alive. They could not ask him to do more.

With his arms tightly wrapped around his legs he, once again, banged his head against the wall. Down the hall, he heard his uncle yelling something about being quiet before he made him, but he did not listen. His uncle always yelled, but it was not like he would do anything about it anyway.

A sigh left his lips as he remembered the warning his uncle had received when he picked him up at the train station. There were so many people that claimed they cared about him, that tried to keep him safe, but it felt superficial. Did they know the prophecy too, and was that why they acted this way? Perhaps they saw him as just a weapon, a means to an end, and nothing more.

Sirius had been different though. He cared. He said he cared. Sure, sometimes he might have mistaken Harry for James, but he still cared. He had escaped Azkaban for him. But Sirius was not here anymore, and he knew it was his own fault. Maybe Hermione was right, maybe he had a saving-people-complex.

But 'had' was the main word. 'Had', not 'have'. Not anymore.

Getting up from the floor, and returning to pacing across it, he made up his mind. That was all in the past now, no more running head first in to situations that would, most probably, turn out bad. He did not care if someone was in danger; it was not his responsibility to save every person in the world. Leave it to the Order, the Aurors, someone! He was not even of age, it could not be asked of him to risk his own life for everyone else.

No, he did not care anymore. Get someone else to take on the burden, someone stronger, more powerful, because he would not do it.

What did it matter to him if people he did not know died, lost their family or suffered? What did it matter to him if people he had never met asked for help and did not get it? It was not his fault!

Punching the wall with all his might, making the lamp on the ceiling rattle, he screamed in rage. He did not care! He just . . . He did not!

Shaking from head to toe, he jumped in surprise when there was a soft tapping on the window. Turning around, he stared in shock at Professor Lupin, suspended on a broom outside his window and with a frown creasing his forehead. Taking a moment to calm his nerves, and take in the scene, Harry slowly moved towards the window and opened it. "Professor Lupin, what . . ?"

"I heard a scream," he answered, his eyes searching the room behind Harry before focusing on his eyes. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling all the rage run out of him and leaving him hollow. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Lupin's eyes moved downwards and settled on Harry's right hand, cradled against his chest and already starting to bruise. He sighed, looking twenty years older, before meeting Harry's eyes again. "You don't want to wake your relatives," he said simply, but with an air of something serious, as if his words were only the tip of the iceberg and the real meaning was hidden beneath it.

Harry stared straight back at him, feeling light-headed and worn out, and just so sick of it all. "I don't care."

Lupin looked sad, worried, but Harry turned away and did not watch as his old Professor soared away from the window and took up the guard once more. He could not deal with other people at the moment. He just felt so tired, so burdened, like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders and he no longer had the strength to carry it.

Slipping down on to the floor once again, and leaning his head against the wall, he sighed. His eyes felt strangely wet and unfocused, and his whole body was trembling without being cold. The turmoil in his head had subsided a little, leaving him empty and out of touch, and he just wished he could fall asleep. Fall asleep and when he woke up again, all this would be over.

No, he did not care.

He did not.


End file.
